


The Holiday

by MadameAirlock



Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7322875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameAirlock/pseuds/MadameAirlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeanine Matthews is a self made woman, with a brilliant career and empire she's built from scratch. After a decade, she goes on holiday for the first time. There she meets a young woman by the name of Tris Prior. Just what she needs, another Prior in her life. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! It's been a long time since I wrote a fic. In fact, I up and deleted everything from all my accounts and computer, thinking I'd never write again. But here I am with this ship. You can blame this story on a recent rewatch of The Holiday (I was inspired by it but it's not going to be exactly like it), and ideas that just won't leave me. I know, the AU no one asked for. I haven't read the books yet so any characterisation is film based. Also, English isn't my first language and this posted without a beta.
> 
> This is going to be from Jeanine's point of view, as I find her quite the interesting character. I'll try to show an emotional evolution/development as the story unfolds (will I succeed? Stay tuned to find out.) Veronica Roth has mentioned that Jeanine suffers of deep anxiety so this will be included in the story from time to time, in fact it appears on the first chapter. I'll always warn when anxiety is featured, in case anyone is triggered by it.
> 
> Before I forget, I've changed the ages for the story. Jeanine is 40, therefore younger than the books state (according to google), and Tris is 21. The age difference between them is still there as you can see. Also, if there's a mistake on the ranks mentioned below you can all blame google.

I have found almost everything ever written about love to be true. Shakespeare said, " _Journeys end in lovers meeting_." What an extraordinary thought. Personally, I have not experienced anything remotely close to that but I'm more than willing to believe Shakespeare had. I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I'm constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives. It was Shakespeare who also said, " _Love is blind_." Now, that is something I know to be true. For some, quite inexplicably, love fades. For others, love is simply lost. But then, of course, love can also be found even if just for the night. And then there's another kind of love. The cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. It's called unrequited love. Of that, I am an expert. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories? Those of us who fall in love alone. We are the victims of the one-sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones. The walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space. - Iris Simpkins.

* * *

 

  
One could say Jeanine Matthews has it all. In truth, she has everything that matters to her which means a key element for mere mortals is missing in her life: **love**.

  
A self made woman with an extraordinary brilliant mind, in fact she's one of the most intelligent people alive, or dead. To be precise, with her IQ of 200 she ranks as the fifth person - and number one woman - in recorded history. With a net worth of 5$ billion she ranks as the eighth richest woman in America; all those that rank above her, are either a heiress or married into wealthy family and/or the actual man who has the money. Which, in her eyes, simply makes her better than them (and yes, one could say she's narcisstic to hold such belief) as she built her own empire from scratch and her own advances in technology and science have made her a household name in her fields. And much to her chagrin, it seldomly lands her on most elegible bachelorrete lists boasting about three qualities: her wealth, her beauty and her brain. In that exact order, as apparently being intelligent can't be deemed good enough to be put in first place.

  
Just like the qualities mentioned in articles written about her, three details are always brought up when describing her: her watery grey eyes, her impeccably blonde hair always slicked in an updo, and the layer of pudge about her midriff - one Jeanine has spent years trying to rid herself of, but that at her forty years of age has not left her and she doubts ever will.

  
A woman who is equally respected as she's feared by her employees and the science community, perhaps everyone in her life feels the same. As is the widely spread belief that she's completely incapable of feeling human emotion, that she's more robotic than human. Her last partner falls under the same group of believers, one she has unceremoniously kicked out of her life and penthouse after catching him in bed with another woman. In another situation, Jeanine would have felt amusement at his audacity: blaming her for his infidelity. She works too much, she's too smart, she's too successful, she's too emotionally unavailable. It all boils down to her being too much, and him not being enough.

  
The logical conclusion is simple, put an end to the relationship and move on. After three years of companionship, one mostly driven by her primal basic needs on her end, Jeanine feels only emptiness within her. Which is not truly a bad thing, if one is to be guided by her standards. Love is irrational in her mind, it cannot be analysed or studied, though through observation she has gathered two conclusions: first, it makes people act foolishly and second, they are left vulnerable therefore easy to manipulate.

  
Human nature is what drives her to seek relationships. The raw and visceral need to know that, after an extremely tiring trying day, she has a pair of arms to fall back on and make her forget everything. Or that when her desire arises, she has someone to quench it with. This, of course, is something she considers a weakness. If there were only a way for her to be rid of once and for all of her human nature!

  
Life and fate, however, have other plans in motion for Jeanine. Plans, that are about to unfold in the following weeks...


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update within a day. Don't get used to it, as I decided to post both the prologue and first chapter together.
> 
> This is your reminder that anxiety is featured within this chapter.

Reclining against plush pillows on her bed, typing away on her laptop a heavy sigh leaves dusty pink lips. Left hand reaching blindly for the glass of red wine sitting atop a coaster on the bedside table. Watery grey eyes, behind black rimmed glasses, scan the screen as the burgundy liquid touches her tastebuds before swallowing.

The search for the perfect vacation spot seems endless. The first vacation in a decade, the location must be impressive to make her choose it. To make her follow Johanna and Jack's advice to take a break. A moment such as this makes her question if they can truly be considered friends, or merely co-conspirators to get her out of Chicago. Her empire will survive for a couple weeks without her ever watchful eye. The real question is, can Jeanine last those two weeks without setting a foot in her office?

A mind like hers is in dire need of constant stimuli, lest it wither and die. Entertainment could prove a suitable replacement, only if its quality is deemed acceptable.

Another sip of wine passes her lips before the glass returns to its rightful spot on the bedside table. Minute after minute passes by, her patience wears thin at the lack of appealing destinations. Europe is ruled out after the first hour ends, Australia and Canada are discarded next. She's about to resign and book a trip to Bora Bora (perhaps she should invest on purchasing her own private island to avoid future headaches), when the website's IM flashes instantly getting her attention. She blames her curiosity as she clicks and a pop up appears on her screen.

**EJ** : I'm interested in renting your penthouse. Is it still available?

**EJ** : Hello? Anybody there?

**EJ** : I wanna know if your penthouse is available this Christmas, because if it is, you could be a real life saver. Please contact me if you're interested.

Jeanine rolls her eyes as she reads the three messages, this person is seemingly more impatient and desperate than she is. Still, she allows her fingertips to hover above the keyboard before she types away.

**JM** : I'm interested. The penthouse is only available, however, for home exchange. Do you know what this entails?

**EJ** : No??

**JM** : Are you asking or telling me?

**JM** : Home exchange means we swap everything: houses, vehicles, etc. Where are you?

**EJ** : LA

Her eyebrows raise as she reads the answer. Odd, she hasn't thought of staying in her own country. Perhaps a weather change is beneficial.

**JM** : Haven't been there in years. Might be time to visit again.

**EJ** : Perfect.

**EJ** : When do you want to swap places?

**JM** : Is tomorrow too early?

**EJ** : No, it's good. I'm Evelyn, by the way.

**JM** : Jeanine.

**JM** : What does your place look like?

**EJ** : It's nice, slightly bigger than yours.

At this a scoff escapes her lips without her consent. She lives in a 8,025 square foot penthouse in East Lake Shore Drive. Perfect view of Lake Michigan from both private balconies. Still, an underlying hope remains - that her home for a few weeks shall be pleasant enough. That, and once she returns to Chicago, her own home remains without signs of vandalism.

**JM** : May I ask you something?

**EJ** : Of course.

**JM** : Are there any idiots living nearby?

Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.

**EJ** : Zero.

Relief washes over her as she reads the single word, extremely pleased with this outcome.

**JM** : We're on. For two weeks starting tomorrow.

The following half hour flies by as directions and security information are exchanged. As well as Evelyn's sob story: the woman is divorcing her husband, Marcus, after being separated for years. Her holiday away from everyone is her attempt to get her life back together. Jeanine can't bring herself to care, this woman is a complete and utter stranger. Why would she be moved to provide comfort after hearing her story? Ordinary people with bleeding hearts, wearing them on their sleeves, would ache and wish to make it better. Jeanine, on the other hand, lacks empathy. One of the many downsides of her privileged mind, not that she considers it a bad thing. On the contrary, it allows her to focus on her work and genius creations.

The rest of her evening is a blur of choosing clothes, shoes and an assortment of jewlery, makeup and bags. All stored in a pair of suitcases. Phone calls for towncar arrangements and her private jet to be ready for her morning flight.

Morning comes before the alarm on her phone goes off. What would usually be caused by a sliver of light illuminating her face through the drapes, today she awakes due to a noctural panic attack. A thin layer of sweat covers her skin, her nightgown becomes a second skin as do the sheets in contact with her skin. Her heart pounding within her skull, each beat a clear sound in her ears. She lays, unmoving, eyes tightly shut in her bed as she feels everything is spinning around her. As if she is also going to fall even though she lays still.

Jeanine would never admit this out loud, to anyone, but nocturnal panic attacks completely terrify her. They render her powerless, useless, there is nothing she can do but let it pass. Only through gathered information over the years is her knowledge to help herself. That's the only aid her big brain provides her, which in her opinion that help is close to none.

She wills herself to take deep breaths. Inhale for six seconds, hold it for two seconds, and exhale during six seconds again. A minute later her eyelids flutter open, her right hand pulling back the covers to get up. She pads silently, close to the wall, to the master bathroom. She's in need of a shower, to fully wake up and begin her day. In the past she learned that trying to go back to sleep is not a solution, it never works. This time, she's planning her day ahead and she decides she's going to take a short nap during the flight to LA.

There's no doubt in her mind that this attack was brought by her lack of control on what could happen to her penthouse for two weeks. But she cannot walk away now. She's not a coward. She is going to make the most of her holiday, and she refuses to let her anxiety disorder to rule her. She's stronger than her disorder and it will not rule her. Not now, not ever.

Hours pass her by at the speed of a snail. She checks her email several times, she packs and unpacks her laptop a dozen times before she decides to take it with her due to all the sensitive information stored in it (even if Jeanine has a number of back ups for safety reasons.) Her ebook reader is loaded and charged, although she packs the charger as well; she devours books, allowing the device to run out of battery would be an oversight.

The drive to the airport barely registers. Everything goes according to plan, the nap she scheduled earlier that day included. The second drive, from the airport to her home for the next two weeks is a bore. Jeanine tries to be captivated by the sights but it fails to even pique her interest for more than thirty seconds. Her lips part as she sighs softly, anticipation building slowly in the pit of her stomach.

As her eyes lift from the cell phone's screen the vehicle comes to a halt. Has she reached her destination? She earns her answer as her door is opened, smoothly stepping outside of the car to be greeted by a young woman with blonde hair, seemingly recently cut at the level of her chin; wide and round blue eyes, a long and thin nose, a long neck. The suit she wears, though it leaves much to be desired, fits her well. If Jeanine has to take a guess, she'd think the girl is willowy and there's something about her that appears to be striking yet she cannot put her finger on it just yet.

Her lips curl upwards into a perfunctory, rehearsed to perfection, smile.

"Welcome to LA, ma'am."

"Thank you, dear. Are you my driver for the next two weeks?"

 The girl nods, an easy smile on her lips. "Yeah. I'm at your disposal twenty-four hours a day."

"Are you, really?" A dangerous glint is on Jeanine's eyes, and her words have the desired effect, watching the girl swallow. Is she nervous? Is she afraid so soon?

"Yes, ma'am."

"We'll see about that. Be a dear, and help me with my luggage."

She watches as the girl nods once more, her legs carrying her to the trunk and unlocking it. With swift motions the girl gathers both suitcases and carries them to the gate for her. That's a surprise, for such a small girl she possess more strength than Jeanine would have given her credit for.

She approaches the gate, fingers almost itching to use the pad to unlock the barrier that keeps her out of the property. As she hits the enter button, she watches the small light turn green granting them access. She holds the door open for her driver to follow her and lets it close behind her. As their steps carry them to the front door, the girl decides to make small talk.

"I didn't catch your name..."

"I didn't give it to you."

"Huh. Right. I'm Tris."

"Tris." She says the name, testing how it feels as it rolls of her tongue. "I like it. Is it a nickname?"

Tris nods once more. "Beatrice. It's Tris now."

Jeanine hums, as a way to acknowledge the words and that she's still listening as she gets the key to unlock the door. "Any last name?"

"Prior."

The key slips from her fingertips, making a clank noise as it hits the floor. Jeanine is frozen. Of all the people in the world, another Prior had to waltz into her life. Assuming this one is related to the others she knows, what are the odds of this happening? Best not let her brain run the numbers, she's here to relax.

She feels a hand on her forearm, making her turn her head to the left. Watery grey meeting blue, her heart beating wildly beneath her ribcage, lips parting to speak but no sound comes out. She blinks once, twice. And snaps the key from Tris' hand as she regains a semblance of self control, quickly unlocking the door to let them in.

What is happening to her?


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the feedback provided so far! I'm honestly surprised. This chapter has been a bit of a nightmare to finish, I've been struggling since last Friday and this has gone through several rewrites. It's a lot shorter than I wanted it to be. Good news is I'm working on the next chapter already.

Almost every corner, every nook of the house is white except for some furniture and the kitchen; the latter, with the exception of the walls, is made of dark marble surfaces and stainless steel. Her fingertips graze over the metal, cold to the touch, as Jeanine explores the area in which she knows she'll spend enough time for the following fourteen days to become quite familiar with it. 

A minute or two pass before she allows her legs to carry her to another room, thoughts ever swimming in her mind endlessly. She thinks of what little she knows of the owner of the house and the colour scheme chosen.

White. Usually associated with purity, faith, light, goodness, heaven, spirituality, protection, understanding,  _ safety _ ,  _ protection. Mentally it promotes the idea of new beginnings and renewal. _

Bingo. Exactly what Evelyn seeks. People can be so boringly predictable, if one has the knowledge to read them.

Jeanine herself while her home and offices have white in them, they are for other reasons: brilliance, possibility, perfection, sterility, illumination. A colour commonly use in laboratories to express safety. However, she’s more of a blue person. In her closet one would find more blue items of clothing than any other colour combined. In fact, rare is the day she’s not wearing at least one blue item throughout her day. It can be something as simple as a belt or a scarf, to be clad in blue from head to toe. Hence so many people assume she’s a cold person. It also speaks, silently, of her importance and confidence.

The colour is also present in her home and all her offices. It has a positive effect on both body and mind, going as far as inducing chemicals that are calming - something Jeanine is in dire need to control her anxiety. Of course, one must choose their shades of blue carefully to obtain the desired effect.

Even her empire is associated with blue, all logos have it in some capacity. The colour represents trust, loyalty, intelligence, wisdom, sincerity, stability, freedom, intuition, imagination, inspiration and unity. While it can be linked to more definitions, those are the ones that Jeanine wants her empire to be associated with.

Her mind goes back to white as she takes the stairs to the upper floor, and it isn’t until she comes across the master bedroom that she allows any emotion to register on her features. She’s grinning at the king sized bed, the spacious room, the wide windows. There is no doubt Jeanine will have the rest she deserves, if the bed is as comfortable as it seems to be.

The sound of nearing footsteps make her school her features, no sign of a grin is present as she turns to find Tris standing by the doorway with her luggage beside her. Her lips part to speak, but Tris beats her to it.

“Evelyn’s never mentioned she'd be gone for Christmas.”

“Why would she?” A pause. “How do you know of her?” Her inquisitive nature can never be satisfied.

“Her son was my boyfriend.” Tris shrugs her shoulders as she speaks, as if it were a nonchalant reaction.

“I assume you've been in this house before.” Her words are met with a nod, somehow that makes Jeanine feel uneasy. Tris knows her way better around the house than she does, but she might find a way to use it to her advantage. “Do the two of you get along, or is there any resentment for hurting her son?”

Tris snorts. “Yeah, right, hurt her son. Whatever. Four can take care of himself. I don't like her, I don't trust her.”

Is that bitterness she senses in her? “Did she name her son after a number?”

“His real name is Tobias, we just call him Four.”

Young people and their lack of sense. Is that a thing they do nowadays in LA, nickname people after numbers? Assigning numbers to experiments, even when humans are involved she understands to keep order of everything. But give them to people just because? That she finds incredibly stupid.

“Tell me, is it true she's divorcing her husband?” Blue eyes widen as the words register, only making Jeanine smirk. My, my, someone is keeping secrets. “Maybe you should talk to your ex and find out. If, you’re still in touch with him.”

With a handful steps she is next to Tris, reaching for her suitcases to push them into the room, not truly caring if they impact together or fall. She’ll unpack after she makes her driver leave.

Jeanine leaves the room, Tris trailing behind her, as she goes downstairs and wastes no time leading them to the front door. She dislikes, immensely, making small talk but for now the situation requires it. She never knows why people love to partake in it, it's meaningless and a complete waste of time.

“Beatrice…”

“ _ Tris. _ ”

“Beatrice,” Jeanine insists, “are you Andrew’s daughter?”

Blue eyes are filled with shock and confusion. “You know my dad?!”

A polite smile spreads across her features, just as she thinks she'd find more joy in poking her eyes out with a blunt rusty knife than spending time with a Prior. “I do. We grew up together in Chicago. I know Caleb, too.”

“How do you know my brother?”

“I'm his boss.”

Jeanine observes her, how realisation begins to dawn on Tris. How the wheels in her mind move a thousand miles per hour, putting the information together and processing it. She almost wants to gloat.  _ Almost _ .

“You're Jeanine Matthews. Founder, President and CEO of Erudite.”

“As of today, your boss for the next fourteen days.” Now she's gloating. “Not everything you've heard is true, don’t believe it. It can be much worse.” She has a reputation to keep.

Her right hand reaches for the front door’s handle, quickly making work of it to open it. A gust of wind makes her hiss, letting go of the handle to cover her eye. Something got in her eye. She should be wearing her glasses, this would've been avoided if she had; instead she had picked contact lenses, terrible mistake.

She feels a hand wrap around her wrist, pulling down her own hand gently to reveal her closed eye. Even if both of them were shut, Jeanine would feel Tris’ presence invading her personal space easily. There’s barely room between them, her heels giving her an advantage to look down on Tris with a look of superiority, one she can’t help herself not even with just one eye.

“May I?”

There isn’t much of a chance for denial, especially if it means regaining the sight of her eye. She nods curtly, giving her silent permission as Tris gently opens her eye and takes a look until she finds the offending dust that got in her eye. Her personal space is returned to her as she blinks once, twice, and against her better judgement she smiles, genuinely, at Tris.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Two words that ever leave Jeanine’s lips. At least sincerely.

“Yeah, Santa Ana's will get you every time.”

“What?”

“It’s the wind, it’s what makes it so warm this time of the year. Local lore says anything can happen.” Tris grins.

Jeanine is sceptical about any local lore meanings and myths. There’s no real proven fact behind such old tales that simply become popular because of one event happening during said weather conditions. To her unless science can explain the phenomenon, any other reasoning is a fallacy.

“Of course.” She tries to hide the sarcasm. “We’re done for now, you can leave. Have your cell with you at all times, I’ll text you when your services are required.”

She watches as the young woman steps out of the house and walks away, leaving her sight for the time being.

“Don’t blow away!” Tris says as she reaches the gate.

Jeanine merely scoffs and rolls her eyes, slamming the door shut. It appears that promise of no idiots in the area has been broken, and less than three hours have passed since her private jet touched down at the airport.


End file.
